


I Want A Girl

by EyeGens



Category: Disney - All Media Types, The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Forced Feminization, Forced Marriage, Forced Relationship, M/M, Other, POV Ratigan, The Author Regrets Most Things, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 07:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20467382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyeGens/pseuds/EyeGens
Summary: In which Ratigan wants a relationship and Basil's not too cooperative.





	I Want A Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the forced feminization prompt at disneykinkmeme. The anon wanted dub-con, but I really didn't see a plot where Basil enjoys it in the slightest.  
The story uses female pronouns/name to address Basil, but only because it's viewed from Ratigan's perspective. If I tried to write Basil's, it would just be an endless stream of unholy screaming and swearing.  
As always, not read by beta.
> 
> Other tags not included in the summary: non-consensual kissing, unnecessarily elaborate descriptions of late Victorian era female fashion, non-graphic mentions of violence, Ratigan being weird about being in a relationship with a woman.

At the end of the day, Ratigan, like most men of his century and many, many centuries before, dreamed of a woman.

Dearest Mother, an angel she was, all-knowing, all-seeing, always told him how happy he would be when he would finally find a perfect sweetheart, how she would make all of his troubles in life seem miniscule and soothe his anguish at the bed of sickness. And, if his perfect darling was to be as dear, beautiful, gentle and devoted to her husband as his Mother was, then Ratigan was willing to believe her with all the might his infant heart could manage.

The dream faded over the years. Life had other plans for him.

For a while, at least.

Basil is certainly not who Ratigan expected his choice to fall onto. With all that fire gleaming in these inconveniently mesmerizing emerald eyes, harsh speeches about morality and exceptional persuasiveness.

But, somehow, he's happier than ever before.

He brushes a stray lock of hair away from Basilia's forehead, marveling at the beauty of her face. Her hair has grown long and silky over the past months, falling down her refined shoulders. It looks peculiar to him, who, despite himself, has became accustomed to seeing her with an unattended mess on her head. A habit left from the older times. Now, though, he enjoys the way a flower with golden leaves, made of rubies and pearls blooms in her hair, a little present he brought her from one of his recent crimes.

"You are beautiful, my precious." He says in lovesick ardor, feeling his heart flutter.

Upon failing to find any signs of indignation on her calm face, he takes her smaller hand in his, brings it to his lips and kisses it. His gestures express gentleness only his darling gets to experience. Ratigan can still feel sharp, firm knuckles under the short fur when he nuzzles fondly against it, and he loves this almost nostalgic feeling.

Sometimes, he wonders if Basil's friends, colleagues– whoever they were, if there were any at all– are still up to their investigation. What would they think and do if they _did_ somehow found out.

Her posture tenses at the touch of his skin on her hand.

Every part of her lithe body is as familiar as breathing for him. It's not a problem if it possesses a rather unusual shape for a being of fair sex. After all, her narrow hips, strong shoulders and perfectly flat chest are simply an excuse to garb her in the expensive, beautiful gowns he enjoys seeing her in, the ones made of silk and velvet, inlaid with gold and shining gems, with ivory floral lace embellishing her otherwise bare neck. The ones that make her bony, sinewy arms appear so much more elegant with their soft, airy sleeves and the ones that trap her waist in cruel corsets, giving it a more feminine outline. The ones she would never choose herself.

He smiles at the thought of her old wardrobe– all three piece suits of dirty, discoloured brown tweed, and, if you were insistent enough to look deeper, maybe some dark winter coats. What a terrible taste, really.

"I love you." The words leave Ratigan's mouth in a warm murmur. It's one of the few truths he ever told in his life.

A pang of dull anger suddenly hits him when her poised expression distorts only for a moment, a corner of her lips twitching ever so slightly in what he knows is suppressed disgust. 

His smile falters.

He knows Basilia is still harsh towards him, as unfortunate as it is. Knows that she whispers curses, inappropriate for a lady like herself, and calls him a delusional lunatic under her breath, thinking perhaps that he doesn't hear or maybe doesn't care. It wounds him, of course, that it's one of the fewer times when he finally gets to hear more of her bewitching, strong voice, and yet it's dripping venom that burns through his bones.

There is a reason why, of course– their first meetings were… _not_ going on a friendly note, that Ratigan can admit, even if with a shadow of reluctance. Their wedding certainly was quite an ordeal.

Her tail shifts nervously under her rich skirts.

He had to use violence to punish her for disobedience once– _only once_. She snapped at him, even less careful with her words than usual, and the unthinking strike of his hand drew a line of blood out of her mouth that smeared on her cheek. It was, undeniably, inappropriate for a gentleman to hit a lady, especially for it to result in such a gruesome scene; and yet it was a necessity– albeit one unpleasant for both of them. Besides, he made sure to properly apologize after, in their shared chambers.

He sighs, the sound nearly inaudible, and rolls his eyes– in a well-meaning fashion, of course.

It is a learning to do, Ratigan knows. Love never was as easy as his Mother used to tell him, and so the burn soothes quickly and he lets himself chuckle a little. They will both laugh heartily at it when she accepts him in her loving embrace, that's for sure.

He lowers his head to her level and kisses the aforementioned corner of his dear bride's mouth, much to her dismay that will forever be untold. He's careful not to ruin the soft coral red paint on her lips this time. Bright colors, unlike himself, never have actually suited her anyway. He did favor the green cravat she used to wear though, accentuated her eyes so well.

"You are my one and only, my dear Basilia."

He thinks his Father told him that Mother was the one and only woman in his life.

When he finally recognizes this wonderful sense of tranquility, the feeling of finally breaking out of adventurous routine, dawning onto him, he loves his Basilia all the more.

Indeed, Basil is far from what Ratigan expected from his wife. And still, she is so much better than anyone even a brilliant mind like his could ever think of.

He knows only death will part them.


End file.
